‘It began as a mistake’ commences the alter-ego of Bukowski – Henry Chinaski, and before I knew where I was heading, I was at a Christmas in 1952 with a shackjob. ‘Post Office’ is put together from bits and pieces of Bukowski’s life, and although I was skeptical at the end of first part, the later five proved the uniqueness of writing style, which blended real life and satire in more or less a laid-back manner.

Henry Chinaski like any living soul has needs. And to fulfill needs, apparently one needs to get a job. He hears about the post-office recruitment and identifies it as ‘Soft!’ Taking a bunch of Christmas cards, moving a couple of blocks, and shoving the goddamn things in the right box seems easy, right? The Uncle Sam Postal Service have a different route mapped out for Henry’s needs. Oh the Places he’ll go. . .

 After 3 years of being trapped in the quicksand named getting by, he decides to quit the job. (Hola! Good decision.) And he does, but only to join it back few months later -_- (COURTESY: An ever-present classic character of human: Masochism)

The novel moves at a brisk pace with sex, betting and the idiosyncratic monologues of Bukowski on the  postal job. The old man knows that butter goes well with food, not writing. And it’s because of this honest and brutal writing style that I wouldn’t recommend this book to any teenager; although after their formative years this book can help to deconstruct their notions about ‘the illusion of security’ and to accept different ideologies. His views on women are 1000 miles and more far-off from the current socio-political movement ‘Feminism’. The words: ‘Good meat’, ‘Big ass and tits’ and ‘a sex creature’ to describe women might not sit well with feminists. Oh well, honesty is definitely not a virtue every time. Most of the times.

 Although I have quit drinking, but there were times while reading this book that I wish I had a glass of whiskey by my side (PS: I live in an alcohol prohibited state, godddamit!). It’s weird to use the word ‘enlightening’ for ‘Post Office’, and so I lean towards doctrine. It sounds professional than a loner’s mumbo jumbo. I can imagine Bukowski sitting with a lax attitude in a high-class hotel, sipping on his scotch, and just before eating like a savage, he utters the words of wisdom that many wise have long forgotten:

“Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly, all else is desperation.”

Bukowski, to me, was an orator of street-side stories than a classic writer. And what startling stories he had in that postman’s satchel?! Maybe the hard life he lived at postal department redeemed him with experiences to write this novel, which by the way he finished in mere 20 days because of his solid work ethic. A big ‘HA!’ to our budding writers. And fittingly, the best part of the book was this dedication:

                                  THIS IS PRESENTED AS A WORK OF FICTION 

                                         AND DEDICATED TO NOBODY.